


we were the one thing in the galaxy god didn’t have his eyes on

by theonewiththewhales



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: Dschungelcamp, F/M, IBES, IBES 2018, but you cant take the pretentious teen prose years out of the girl, i want to fucking d i e, who the fuck writes fanfic about their lcoal trash tv hosts IN ANOTHER LANGUAGE, you cna take the girl out of her pretentious teen prose years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-11 21:14:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13532670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonewiththewhales/pseuds/theonewiththewhales
Summary: In Australia, everything’s always felt different.The hot air, the humidity, the jet lag, getting up at three in the morning every damn day, the whole thing has always felt a little like a surreal two-week-long fever dream.When she makes up scenarios in her head, nightmarish ones about all the interviewers suddenly asking her what it’s like, finding yourself wildly attracted to your co-host while working this closely with your husband, that’s what she tells them, what she tells herself, it’s okay, this is just an Australia thing, things have always been different over here, it doesn’t count, it’s just the heat and the sleep deprivation.





	we were the one thing in the galaxy god didn’t have his eyes on

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fairytalelights](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairytalelights/gifts).



> hello i wrote pretentious garbage soft angst fic about german trash tv and i entirely blame my german twitter people, especially Alicia and Saskia, who are dirty enablers. (<3) (like half of this was written at 2am and the other half after not sleeping all night okay)

 

 

 

In Australia, everything’s always felt different. 

The hot air, the humidity, the jet lag, getting up at three in the morning every damn day, the whole thing has always felt a little like a surreal two-week-long fever dream. 

 

When interviewers ask her what it’s like, working this closely with her husband, she’s always laughed and told some cute anecdote about life on set, but the truth is they barely see each other, they barely even talk, and by the third season they’ve started sleeping in different hotel rooms. 

And it’s not because they don’t love each other, that’s not it at all, it’s just – in Australia, everything’s always felt different. 

 

When she makes up scenarios in her head, nightmarish ones about all the interviewers suddenly asking her what it’s like, finding yourself wildly attracted to your co-host while working this closely with your husband, that’s what she tells them, what she tells herself, it’s okay, this is just an Australia thing, things have always been different over here, it doesn’t count, it’s just the heat and the sleep deprivation. 

And that excuse, weak as it may be, has worked for her, it’s worked for the past five seasons of working with him, worked a bit too well even, because of course having real chemistry and some harmless flirty banter with your co-host is TV gold, it’s what some producers spend years trying to find.

 

But this year, somehow, it’s gotten more intense, more real. 

She tries to tell herself she’s just imagining things, that his flirty banter hasn’t _really_ suddenly got a hint of actual heat behind it, that his gaze hasn’t _really_ started lingering on her long past the cameras are turned off, but she’s old enough to know better. 

She’s old enough to know perfectly well when a man wants her. 

 

Maybe it actually is just the heat or the jet lag, but that doesn’t change the fact that there’s all this new tension between them.  
Tension that makes her feel like they’re personally responsible for the hot heavy air that’s all around them, like they’re both just circling each other, like they’re just desperately waiting for some cool rain to release them from this. 

 

And then it rains, and it pours and all the stupid metaphors she’s been trying to distract herself with become all too literal as they dance in the rain on national fucking television and she feels more awake than she has all damn year.

 

 

 

That evening, the rain’s already stopped again and the pressing heat is back in every pore of her body. She’s lying wide awake on her bed, pondering the fact that she’s too old to still be feeling this lingering arousal like she’s a damn teenager. 

Be that as it may, said arousal is still there, and it’s not making it any easier to fall asleep with sunlight floating in through the gaps in the blinds on its way beyond the horizon. 

 

When there’s a knock on the door, she knows exactly who it is.

The last surviving rational part of her brain tries to remind her that that’s the wrong man, but it’s drowned out by the way her heart starts beating rapidly in her chest.  
Continuing with the theme of “shit she’s too old for”, it seems.  


She opens the door, and her heart performs an ambitious drum solo as she gets undeniable confirmation for what she already knew. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” she manages to ask him, thanking whatever god she’s going to have to beg for forgiveness tomorrow for all her TV host experience and how it’s keeping her voice stable right now. 

“Nope, I honestly don’t know how they expect us to fall asleep with all this sunshine and and heat and shouldn’t the jet lag be canceling this out what time is it in Germany right n-“ Daniel trails off, and his apparent nervousness makes Sonja’s breathing get a bit easier. “Anyway, can I…. can I come in?” 

Sonja steps aside, Daniel closes the door behind him and they stand in the darkened room for a long second, staring at the walls in various directions and even though the AC is on full blast it feels like he’s brought some of the thick jungle air in with him. 

 

Cheating on your husband always looked a lot less awkward in movies, the rational part of her brain pipes up pettily.She opts to ignore it. 

 

Daniel, oblivious to her own inner turmoil, nervously rubs a hand over his face. “Fuck, this was stupid, I’m, I should leave again, I’m sorry, I just, I thought-“ 

The fact that he’s such a rambling mess somehow soothes the cynical thoughts she’s been having, wondering if this is any easier for him because _his_ spouse just a vague figure on the other side of the planet and not a tangible person on the other side of the hallway, and she takes pity on him.

 

“No, stay. Please?” Somehow, Sonja manages a crooked smile and looks directly at Daniel for the first time since he knocked on her door and doomed them both for good.

Apparently that’s what the people in the movies do from the get-go –she’s going to get an A in Cheating 101 for sure now, the rational part of her brain throws in before it perishes for good– because it’s all it takes to banish the awkward uncertainty and suddenly they’re standing really close and Sonja kisses him before either of them can overthink it.  
He tastes like coffee and endless Australian summer heat and all in all just way too _right_ for something so wrong.

They almost fall onto the bed, frantically tearing at each other's clothes, their breathing seemingly too loud in the otherwise quiet room, neither of them daring to speak as if that would push the reality of their guilt onto the bed between them. 

 

The silence isn't broken until Sonja tries to throw Daniel's jeans onto the floor.  
"Wait" he whispers and scrambles to catch them, “okay now this is going to make me seem like a presumptuous douchebag, but-" he continues, pulling a condom out of the back pocket.

Sonja can't help but giggle at him. If there's a hysterical edge to her laughter, they both refuse to hear it.  
"To be fair, you did presume correctly, so who am I to judge?" They lazily smile at each other for a second until the reality of the situation hits them again.  
"Are you sure you want to-" Daniel starts, but Sonja interrupts him "Yes, yes, I want to, and it's sweet of you to ask, but please stop talking now?"  
He replies by kissing her again and then they’re both naked, their bodies entangled so completely that there is no more room for guilt or doubt or any rational thought at all.

It’s just the two of them, writhing on a hotel bed in Australia, and weirdly enough it’s the least different anything has ever felt in this country.

 

After, they just lie there, legs still tangled up into a sweaty, unsolvable knot, breathing into the silence. 

Before the guilt can creep back, there is a crack of thunder and the rain starts pouring down, clearing up the air, washing away their sins. 

 

It doesn’t stop raining for the remainder of their stay.

**Author's Note:**

> look the ending isnt gonna get any better than this dont @ me I TRIED MY BEST (it wasnt very good) (i tried to make it smutty but it wouldnt happen IT FEELS TOO PERSONAL DONT @ ME 2.0)


End file.
